


lost cause, long shot

by Verbyna



Series: Suitehearts [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 2009 NHL Draft, Dirty Talk, Dyslexia, F/M, Hockey, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Private School, Promiscuity, Queer Character, Teenage Kicks, Underage Drinking, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbyna/pseuds/Verbyna
Summary: Travis Nelson gets hella laid on Valentine's Day. He's not telling his best friend about it.





	lost cause, long shot

**Author's Note:**

> we love nelly with our whole hearts and hope you will, too.
> 
> title from fob's _a little less sixteen candles, a little more touch me,_ because of course it is. infinite thanks to my co-conspirators gabby and mal for the suggestions and support #hellsquadforever

**February 2010**

Travie’s Valentine this year is Marie Carroway. She’s really smart and really pretty and she won’t meet his eyes when she says, “Can we just sneak back to my dorm instead?”

Her arms are crossed over her chest like she expects Travie to be an asshole about it. He smiles at her, because he gets it. She doesn’t want to get a reputation. Being seen with him is not, like, the best thing for a girl who cares about that stuff. She smiles too, but it doesn’t look right. It’s a little mean.

He hopes she’s not being mean to herself right now, taking him back to her room instead of going out and letting him buy her lunch. He made reservations and everything.

“How about I meet you at the service entrance to St. Cecilia in ten? I should get rid of the tie.”

She squints at him. “What service entrance?”

“Um, on the north side, by the service road?” She’s still watching him blankly, so he holds up his palm and draws a square in it with his finger. “This is the dorm. This,” he points at the lower edge, “is the main entrance from the green. If you go around and pass through those shrubs on the right, you get to the service road. You just follow that to the service entrance. It’s next to the stone bench where the seniors smoke, but you can’t see it unless you stay on the road until the shrubs open up again.”

“Right,” Marie says. “Of course you’d know that.”

“What?”

“You’re so lucky you’re hot,” she says, mostly to herself. “Yeah, okay, ten minutes, by this secret door I didn’t know about after three years in my dorm. Keep the tie.”

“It’s not secret,” he points out. “The staff uses it all the time. See you in ten!”

She turns around and walks back the way she came, breath fogging behind her. Travie should’ve known they weren’t gonna leave the grounds when she asked him to meet behind the chapel and not out by the gate, but even looking at her retreating back now, with her plaid skirt not rolled up at the waist and her ski jacket and her hair unstraightened and undyed, he’s still a little surprised.

Obviously he’s up for it, if that’s what she wants. But it’s Valentine’s Day. She could’ve done this any other day of the year.

He blows on his hands to warm them before taking his phone out and scrolling through his contacts to the street number of the restaurant. It’s where his parents always take him and Chuck, so he feels a little bad cancelling last minute, and then he feels a little worse when Louise, the hostess, assumes his date cancelled on him. He sneaks off from the table sometimes to talk hockey with her; her brother was drafted by the Rangers last year and he’s playing in the minors. She doesn’t think it’s stupid for Travie to want to play.

He still has a few minutes to burn before Marie’s expecting him, so he cuts through the alley and shoulders the side entrance to his dorm open. He doesn’t meet anyone on the way up, and his roommate isn’t in when he gets to his room, so he doesn’t bother closing the door before he strips down to his jeans and pulls an Aces sweatshirt on. It is, like most of his clothes, a little tight. He’s been putting on muscle like crazy since he shot past six feet last year; it’s like every molecule of protein he eats goes straight to his chest or his ass.

He looks at himself in the closet mirror and thinks, _hockey player._ Then he thinks, _kid,_ but it doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like what he looks or what he feels like. No one told him it would be this weird, but maybe it’s different when you’re the tallest guy in school and get laid so much. Also, Spenser would laugh his ass off to be called a kid, and he’s only two months older than Travie, so whatever.

He drops the tie in a drawer and puts his watch on before taking off for St. Cecilia, coat in hand, a handful of condoms and single-use packs of lube in his pocket. Marie’s already there when he reaches the service road. She rolls her eyes at the NHL logo on his sweatshirt, but follows Travie when he ducks through the fence and opens the door for her.

Anna, the cleaner, also rolls her eyes at him when they cross paths in the back stairwell. He grabs the buckets from her landing and carries them down, then jogs up the stairs to where she’s carefully not looking at Marie’s flushed face.

“Thank you, Travis. Off you go,” she whispers knowingly, before she pats his arm and leaves them there without a backwards glance.

“Oh my god, hurry _up,”_ Marie snaps. “If Sister Snooty catches you here, I’m getting expelled. Not like she’d expel _you.”_

Travie was hoping that Marie hadn’t heard the rumour about him and Sister Sylvia, but like. Of course she did. She’s a senior, and it was Chuck’s ex-girlfriend who started it.

“We’re not getting expelled,” he says, holding the door open on her floor.

“I didn’t even know this door was here,” Marie says, more worried about checking for classmates who might see them than holding on to her annoyance. “Who showed it to you?”

“She graduated this summer,” Travie says, not naming names. “Coast is clear. You’re in 213?”

Marie side-eyes him, but she just says, “214,” and leads the way. She locks up behind him. 

The room smells like her, vanilla lotion and Herbal Essences; he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s getting a little hard just being here, where she sleeps and changes and gets herself off after lights out. Spenser doesn’t get it, but god, it really does it for Travie. Almost anything does it for Travie. He hopes it never goes away.

“What do you want to do?” he asks Marie, who drew the curtains and is sitting on the bed, watching him silently as he tosses his coat on the back of a chair. Travie’s towering over her, which is awkward, so he drops to the floor and sits cross-legged in front of her. “We have all afternoon.”

She bites her lip and looks away. “I heard--”

Travie smiles encouragingly, a little filthy, but not enough to spook her. “What do you want me to do, babe?”

“Don’t call me that,” she says, then wriggles out of her ski jacket and spreads her legs, leaning back on her hands.

“Whatever you want,” Travie tells her honestly, eyes drawn to vee of her thighs under the skirt. She must’ve been freezing earlier without a pair of tights. Why bother impressing him? He’d already asked her out. Not like he’s gonna back out of sex if he doesn’t get lunch first.

He rubs his hands against his thighs to warm them up before he shuffles closer to her and presses his chest against her calves, settling with his ass between her feet. With guys he likes them lying down on a bed, but with girls he likes to be on his knees when he’s eating them out, his dick out of sight and out of the equation. It’s a _lot_ of dick. Some girls took one look at it and laughed him out of their rooms.

Marie’s clenching her knees a little and fighting herself to stop, so he takes it slow, rubs the outside of her calves until she relaxes and spreads a little more. It makes her checked skirt ride up, which he’s seen so many times that he’s basically Pavlov’s dog, swallowing back spit and impatience as he drags his hands to her knees and starts kissing his way up her inner thighs.

He gets a little lost in it. Marie’s trying to stay quiet above him, but when he finally mouths at her through her panties, she groans out loud and grabs his hair hard enough to hurt. He gasps against her and tries to lift his head, but she holds him there, and he catches on to what she’s looking for.

She comes with her panties pushed to the side, drenching Travie’s mouth and chin. He licks his lips, watching her face as she comes down, leaning back on her elbows. It feels so, so good to know he did that. It always feels good; it doesn’t matter what they thought of him before or what they think of him after, they _wanted him there._

“Fuck _me,”_ Marie whispers eventually.

“If you want,” Travie says. “I brought condoms, but it’s cool if you don’t. That was really hot.”

“Don’t tell Spenser O’Callahan,” she says, looking a little panicked. Travie’s shaking his head halfway through the “don’t.”

“He knows I had a date, but like, I don’t name names? It pisses him off, but he’ll live.”

Marie stares at him for a moment, then says, “How are you real. Okay, boy wonder, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She’s breathing hard, from getting off or from the thought of Spenser talking about her, but either way, Nelly doesn’t get up when he shuffles out of his jeans. He takes his sweatshirt off too, and the condoms and lube spill out when he kicks his clothes away towards the desk. Marie leans over the edge of the bed and flicks her fingers over a condom before picking up a thing of lube.

“What’s this for?”

“I always bring lube,” Travie says absently, caught up in watching her hand. “It literally never hurts to have it, right? Don’t know if you’ll need it,” he adds, wiping his chin and smiling at her. It comes out as a smirk, because his muscles are cramping, but thank god, she smirks back.

“Get up here.”

He fucks her slow, mind blank, face pressed against the side of her head. She smells amazing, she feels amazing, he’s exactly where he wants to be, why does anyone want to do anything else? He doesn’t even care about coming, he just wants his hands on her hips forever, lifting her closer while she scratches over the scratches on his back.

She comes biting his shoulder and starts moving away, so he pulls out and rolls over. All it takes is her tits pressed against his side and her fingers dragging down to his dick for him to follow, swallowing the sound. He stares at the ceiling for a minute, the arm she’s not lying on thrown over her waist, legs tangled.

“You’re so hot,” she says, before she laughs. “I feel like such a slut. I can’t believe I just slept with a hockey player. I can’t believe it was _good._ I’ll be feeling that all week.”

Travie smiles at her and stretches, pulling the condom off and wrapping it in a tissue. “No smoke without a fire, babe,” he says, and immediately regrets it when her face shutters.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“I call everyone that, it doesn’t mean anything,” he tries to explain, but she’s shoving him away, which makes his skin crawl, _again._ More. He climbs off her bed and massages his wrists. He took a bad fall last week and lifting her wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

“I know it doesn’t mean anything. I have problem sets to do,” she says pointedly, pulling the blanket up.

“Uni prep vectors? I could look those over--”

Marie snorts and smiles like she did earlier by the chapel. Travie wonders if he should feel bad being naked right now, but his body’s not the problem: he barely passed year 9. It was mentioned in the school paper feature on athletes. He can’t blame her for laughing when he talks about the upperclassmen’s curriculum, but like. He and Chuck have been doing problem sets together for years. Chuck’s going to an Ivy League school for maths in the fall. Travie could’ve helped her.

“You should leave,” she says. “Make sure no one sees you coming out of my room.”

“I could still--” call the restaurant, help her with homework, eat her out until she screams.

“It’s been fun. Thanks. Go through the secret hallways or whatever, I’m sure you know your way around.”

The way she says it, it’s like she didn’t just call herself a slut. But she didn’t, Travie realizes. She said she felt like one. Because she fucked him. And that’s a bad thing, not the way it is for him. He’s suddenly sad for her; he wants to get out and turn this into something he half-remembers, an orgasm and a little sneaking around, that time a girl skipped lunch on the Nelson tab on Valentine’s Day to fuck him.

He gets dressed as fast as he can and shoves the condoms and lube into his pockets. He didn’t put his boxers back on, but if she keeps them instead of throwing the out, more power to her. He can’t imagine - or recall - better head or dicking to be had in this school.

“Take care, see ya around,” he says inanely, and then he power-walks down the hallway once he makes sure there’s no one around.

He’s not supposed to be in one of the girls’ dorms at all, so he does take the staff stairs again like she assumed he would. Anna’s not around, but there are seniors on the bench now. They watch him as he passes through their cloud of smoke. It’s pushing on four p.m. and it’s a Sunday, of course someone would be here after a late lunch, but it still takes him by surprise to see six of them lined up on the backrest and handles.

“Good game last weekend, Nelson,” one of them says, even though it wasn’t. They lost and Travie’s wrists are throbbing.

“Thanks, man. Gonna score more next time.”

“It’s what you’re good at,” the guy says, and Travie nods, because ain’t that the truth, as American TV shows say.

The rest of his afternoon is clear. Spenser’s off with a girl his parents told him to take out, and Travie already ran fifteen miles and spent the maximum ninety minutes working on his core in the gym this morning. The rink is blocked off for romantic skates.

His tutor said he’d be free to do some work, but Travie’s not in the mood to listen to his English assignments out loud and dictate essays. He only needs to be in the upper fifty percent to stay enrolled, as per the terms his mom negotiated after the sex toys in the dorms thing.

He’s walking idly past the chapel, toward his dorm or the gate, when his phone rings. The screen says _2,_ Chuck, so he taps the answer button before he has time to think about it.

“Travis,” Chuck says. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but Dad called and he wants you to confirm for Sunday dinner.”

“Yes,” Travie says, knee-jerk. He clears his throat, then coughs; it’s still way below freezing, and he didn’t put on a hat or gloves to walk five minutes to St. Cecilia. “Yeah,” he croaks, “I’ll be there. Who was it again?”

Chuck doesn’t say anything for a bit, and Travie knows exactly the face he’s making. “The partners at his firm and one of Mom’s new clients. Prospective clients. Dog and pony show.”

“I call pony. I love a good ride.”

“I’m well aware,” Chuck says, very politely. He waits for Travie to say something else, then breathes out. Travie’s skin crawls again. It’s getting old. All he did was get laid.

“What did she do?” Travie doesn’t say anything. “I can hear the wind. You’re outside. Why aren’t you at lunch? I let you have my lucky tie and everything.”

There are a couple of ways Travie could play this. He could tell Chuck that he got laid. He could talk about the extra training he’s not supposed to do today but kinda wants to go for anyway, and let Chuck talk him out of it, because Chuck’s been on an injury stats kick. He could ask Chuck over to his room to go over playoff projections, but they did that last night.

“I’m on my way to Spense’s room,” he hears himself saying, and his feet turn in that direction automatically. “It didn’t work out.”

“Sorry,” Chuck says. “I know you were excited about it. Are you sure you don’t wanna come over instead? Tea and sympathy?”

“I think I’d rather get wasted, no offense.”

“Oh my god, Trav, full offense. Can you even drink with your painkillers? Obviously you shouldn’t, but do you want a stomach ulcer on top of everything?”

“Spense checked online, it’s fine,” Travie lies. Spenser doesn’t even know he was injured; he wasn’t at the game. He’d talk about it like it’s a battle wound instead of a fuck up.

“I still don’t get why you can’t just come over, but you do you. Don’t be late for practice tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” Travie promises. “Love you, bro.”

“Love you too, sweet sixteen. Keep the tie,” Chuck says, and hangs up.

The snow’s mostly melted on the green. Travie sticks to the patches of dead lawn when he crosses it so he won’t get Spense’s floor wet; it’s a bitch to get mud out of the treads of his Timberlands. He digs into his coat and tosses the tissue with the condom behind a bush, then thinks twice and circles back to pick it up. There are ten-year-olds around, even if they’re just day students.

The tissue fell on top of a pile of broken twigs. He reaches for it, but his hand is too cold to aim, so he ends up sticking his fingers right through the pile. There’s something underneath--he pulls his hand back, startled, but it’s just a blackened tennis ball. He doesn’t know why he can’t look away from it. He sits there on his haunches, right outside Spenser’s dorm, holding a used condom, staring at the fucking tennis ball for a whole minute.

Then he picks it up, jumps to his feet, and throws it clear across the green.

On the other side of the lawn, Spenser’s roommate, Baz, slows down to look at the tennis ball that barely missed his face. Travie’s right wrist hurts so bad. He doesn’t know why he did that. 

“Did it help?” Baz shouts into the weird hush.

“Kinda,” Travie shouts back. “Sorry, man.”

“Tell O’Callahan I’ll be back at eight,” Baz shouts, then turns around and walks away. Which, okay. He couldn’t know that Travie was gonna hang out by himself in their room, and Baz _never_ hangs out with them. 

Travie watches him go, feeling sorry for himself. He could’ve used the company, honestly, but he doesn’t know how to ask without it sounding gay: Baz knows what he and Spenser get up to sometimes and doesn’t approve. He doesn’t approve of Spense in general, but he _especially_ disapproves of the shit he walked in on last fall. He gives Travie weird looks sometimes in the halls, but he’s a decent dude. Except for the possible homophobia, if that’s what it is.

Resigned to spend the afternoon alone, Travie shimmies the hidden access card from between two bricks by the door and lets himself in. He slides it back, slams the door shut, then jogs up to the third floor.

Spense’s room is really clean compared to Travie’s. All of his and Baz’s things are in drawers, the beds are made, even their backpacks are up on hooks next to their wash bags instead of lying open on the floor. Baz pays one of the school cleaners to sweep and dust twice a week, which is why Spense has to keep his cigarettes and booze in a locked suitcase on top of the dresser.

It takes a bit of effort to drag it down, but Travie manages to set himself up with a beer and Spenser’s laptop on the bed. He’s halfway through an episode of Gossip Girl when Spenser walks in and throws his jacket over the screen, smiling widely.

“I got hella laid with that stuck-up chick Mom set me up with, bro. Did you strike out or what?”

“Nah,” Travie says, “she was up for it. Kinda bored now, though. She kicked me out.”

Spenser sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his boots, watching Travis with interest. “What, you wanted to stick around? Man, you’re fucking weird. Other dudes would give their left ball for a chick to just, like, put out and leave them alone.”

 _I’m not most dudes,_ Travie thinks. _Most dudes don’t have fucking wet dreams about Kent Parson if they watch a game. Most dudes don’t want that romance shit either._

“So who was it? Mimi Carroway? I know you had the hots for her last term. Please tell me you screwed her, she’s so fucking hot. Like fuck, I’ve been jacking it to her since year 9.”

Travie grimaces and punches Spenser in the arm. He doesn’t hold back. “The hell do you care who it was? That’s between me and my dick.”

He kinda gets why Baz hates Spenser sometimes. Like, the only person Spenser doesn’t talk shit about is Travie, and even his non-shit talk is bad news. His big mouth is how the school found out about Travie’s cock ring and industrial-size bottle of lube last year and almost expelled him.

It was definitely Spenser. No one else had any idea it was there. Travie still hasn’t called him out on it, because Spenser knew from when they got each other off, and they don’t talk about that, ever.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to break my arm? Whatever, dude, hope you and your dick are very happy watching Gossip Girl. You do know you’re not a chick, right?”

“Obviously,” Travie says, crossing his arms and looking out the window. “There’s nothing weird about watching it.” He kinda wants to screw Chace Crawford, but he’s not about to admit that to Spenser. Also, “Blake Lively is hot, sue me.”

“True,” Spenser says. “Anyway, I’m off for a real date with someone my mom _doesn’t_ know about. Wish me luck, sweetpea?”

“Good luck, babe,” Travie says dutifully.

For her sake, he hopes she doesn’t put out. Just last week, Spenser said that the G-spot is a myth.

He drinks another beer and finishes the episode, then opens a tab for Youtube and searches for Parson’s draft video from last year. He lies back to watch, wishing he was at the rink instead, but this is almost as good.

Watching this on TV was the first moment Travie figured that what he really wanted to do was play in the NHL. He’s still trying to bring his parents around, but Chuck’s backing him up. And it was this one minute that did it.

When they call his name, Parson nods at his mom; she pats his knee and watches him get up, looking straight ahead at the stage. His suit is a little tight, and there’s a faded hickey on his neck. News had just broken about Jack Zimmermann’s overdose, so everyone was whispering or trying very hard not to whisper as Parson makes his way to the stage, but he just goes for it. His tie clashes with his jersey, but he holds his head up and then smiles at the cameras like he just played everyone.

Like it’s more than hockey. Like hockey is more than one kind of game; the sort of look that makes Travie think of his parents when they find a loophole in a contract.

If Kent Parson could play it like that, so can Travie. Parson is - for some reason Travie can’t explain, but feels down to his bones - like him. He wasn’t meant to get to where he did and it didn’t make a single bit of difference.

Travie wants to play in the NHL. It sits sharp in his chest, makes it hard to breathe sometimes, makes it easier for him to take people thinking he’s stupid because he can’t spell worth a damn. Was it like this when Parse was his age, everyone thinking he wouldn’t amount to anything? What did he have to swallow before he got to where he is, leading the Aces in points with smart money on them to win the Cup this year?

Is this why he won’t be quiet about his partying, no matter what people say? That’s what Travie thinks, anyway. It’s why Travie doesn’t pretend he’s a hockey robot like the guys on his team: someone won on his own terms already. It’s not impossible. He’s not sure he’ll make it most days, but it’s worth trying.

It’s the only thing worth trying for.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep. It’s dark outside when he wakes up, snowing again. He jostles the laptop and it blinks awake too, Kent Parson’s smile filling the screen in closeup. Travie pushes it away and curls up with his knees under his chin.

It would’ve been nice to walk Marie back to campus right now. Spenser is probably laughing somewhere and doesn’t even know why, but. It would’ve been special. He’s not gonna get this day back.

It’s not every day he turns sixteen.

That’s how Baz finds him a few minutes later. He turns the lights on, takes in the paused image of Parson and the way Travie’s sitting, and sighs.

“Okay, guess I’m doing this,” he mutters to himself, which doesn’t make any sense.

He turns the lights back off and closes the laptop, then puts it on the desk and sits on his own bed. He sighs again. “Truth or Truth?”

“Sure,” Travie says, because Truth or Truth is a sacred tradition in this school. “You first?”

“Shoot,” Baz says. It sounds like he’s making himself comfortable. Travie doesn’t turn his head; Baz is really hot and one of the nicest seniors, and that way bad decisions lie. He can’t help but hit on people he’s attracted to. He really, really doesn’t want to hear a No Homo tonight.

Okay, something casual. “Where did you go?”

“The student center. My friends don’t do Valentine’s Day.” He hums quietly, then asks, “Kent Parson?”

Travie swallows and nods in the dark. It takes him a while to say it, but, “Kinda. It’s like. It’s a hockey crush, but--”

“Also a _crush_ crush?”

“That’s two questions, babe. Why do you hate Spense?”

Baz snorts. “I thought that was obvious. He treats you like shit. He treats everyone like shit, but especially you, and you’re a chill guy. It’s like kicking a puppy.”

“He doesn’t,” Travie argues. “We’re bros, it’s cool.”

“Why do you defend him?”

Travie blinks, but rules are rules. “When I hit my growth spurt last year and, like, failed English, everyone stopped talking to me. Except girls at parties, and it’s not like they give a shit what I’m saying.”

“That’s… sad, dude. You’re fucking the school douche because he gives you the time of day?”

“I’m not fucking him. He’s straight.” Spenser’s made that super clear.

“Christ above,” Baz groans. It goes right to Travie’s dick, despite everything. He should’ve just stayed in his room. “Look, can we cut the bullshit? I’m moving to Montreal next week, I’ll never see O’Callahan again. You’re, what, sixteen?”

“As of today,” Travie confirms.

“Tod-- He left you alone in our room _on your birthday_ to get laid?”

Travie doesn’t say anything. It’s… unexpectedly nice, to have someone angry on his behalf, even if it’s about Spenser. Chuck is, like, resigned to Spense being Travie’s best bro. There’s no one else.

“It’s basically my civic duty to fuck you now, I hope you realize,” Baz says out of fucking nowhere.

“What?”

“If you’re not into me, that’s cool. Go to your room and let me enjoy the closet without O’Callahan in it for however long it takes him to put that girl off sex. I’ll live. But if you wanna fuck a dude who actually kisses on the mouth, get over here. One time offer.”

Travie doesn’t move for a second, then jumps to his feet and goes to get his coat.

“Oh. Too bad,” Baz says.

“I’m looking for the lube.”

 _”Oh,”_ Baz says again, laughing this time. “I’ve got condoms. Hey, are the rumors true?”

“Yeah, no, definitely use your own condoms, babe.” Travie tried on a normal Durex once and it tore in half. He figures there would be a lot of sagging if someone normal-sized tried one of his, and they’d have to hold on to the base, and it would be hilarious, but not that hot.

What’s hot is Baz’s hands feeling up Travie’s thighs when he’s close enough to Baz’s bed. Travie’s taking off his jeans, but he almost wants to drag it out. He stops for a second to drop the lube packs on top of the sheets and give his dick a warning squeeze before he steps on the bottom of his jeans and pulls his legs out of them.

“Your fucking _thighs,_ Trav. God bless hockey.”

“You should see my ass,” Travie says. It ends on a cough when Baz reaches his crotch and weighs his dick in his palm.

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen it. Speaking of, no way is this going in me. What’s the opposite of a size queen? Because that’s what I am.”

“That’s okay, we can--”

“I was thinking I could fuck you. What do you say, birthday boy?”

Right. Because Baz is gay apparently, closet or nah, and this is… an option. This and kissing on the mouth. Baz has a great mouth; he’s always licking his lips and making them shiny and red. Travie wants to know what they feel like. A lot, as it turns out.

“We could try? I’ve never, like, done it this way. But I’m up for it.”

He sits on the bed, and when Baz pulls at his shoulder, Travie takes his sweatshirt off and lies down next to him. The mattress is so narrow he’s scared he’ll fall off until Baz pulls him closer. His shirt is really soft; Travie rubs his face against it and smiles in the dark.

“It’s okay to be scared, but I’ll make it good, I promise.”

“I know,” Travie says. He’s like 90 percent sure he’d enjoy this even if it was someone else, but he actually trusts Baz to try. Travie’s heart is beating pretty fast, but it’s just nerves. It’s just new; doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes please,” Travie says, and moves a little higher on the bed so Baz can get at his mouth.

He expects it to be a little… hungrier? Rougher, more forward momentum, but Baz is kissing him like they're twelve and playing spin the bottle. Both his hands are on Travie’s face, holding him in place like there’s no rush. It’s very different from the other boys Travie kissed, but maybe three dudes is not enough to form an opinion. He wants to do this outside, maybe, with his clothes on.

He’s thinking about Baz’s blue eyes and amazing mouth and soft shirt earlier on the green, when Travie nearly took his head off with that tennis ball. What it might’ve been like to walk over and kiss him like this out in the open. “You’re really beautiful,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to curl up and forget it happened. Boys don’t--

“Thanks,” Baz says, with no trace of irony. He kisses Travie’s chin and pats his chest like he can tell he’s spooked. “You’re very handsome. Can you roll over? Yeah, like that,” he says, helping Travie settle on his stomach, dick trapped between his hipbone and the sheets. He pets Travie’s back while he sits up and feels around for the lube near the bottom of the bed. Travie breathes into the pillow for a minute.

“If your wrists hurt, put your arms over your head. You have a game next week.”

“Um, yeah.”

“Cool,” Baz says, and puts the lube packs on Travie’s back. “Gotta warm those up. Spread your legs for me?”

“Can I--” Travie starts, but then he just takes the pillow and shoves it under his own hips. It helps with the whole foreign objects and small holes thing; it’s a familiar move, even at this angle. He puts his hands back up and waits, grateful for the school’s generosity with heating in the winter.

“I’d be mad that your dick is on my pillow, but again, I’ve seen your ass,” Baz says, laughing quietly. “You get a pass. Good to go?”

Travie smiles. Damn right he gets a pass. “Go for it, babe.”

Baz doesn’t immediately go for it. He kneels between Travie’s legs and plasters himself to his back, still fully dressed, and drags his hands up and down Travie’s sides for a while, rubbing his dick through all those layers of fabric against Travie’s ass. He’s heavier than a girl, Travie thinks, and then it finally hits him that he’s about to get hella laid with the hottest boy in school.

“Come on, come on, come _on,”_ he whispers, trying to rub back against Baz. “Do something.”

He feels Baz nodding. “Gonna take my clothes off. Get the condoms from my nightstand.”

It takes a minute for them to settle back as they were, with Baz naked this time. Travie isn’t nervous anymore: it’s sex, and it’s only been a year since his other firsts, but now that he’s used to Baz’s weight and figured out where all their bits go, his body knows what to do. It’s something he’s _good_ at.

As soon as Baz gets a finger in him, Travie decides that he’s been missing out.

“Good?” Baz asks him. His awesome mouth has been pressed between Travie’s shoulders while he pushed the finger in, and just the way his breath feels against Travie’s spine is… yeah. Yeah, he likes it.

“Another,” Travie asks, and lifts himself up on his elbows to stretch his spine and put their faces closer. They’re breathing each other’s air when Baz pulls the finger back and moves his whole body to push back in with two, like they’re already fucking.

“Do you do this by yourself?” Baz whispers. “Do you think about it?” God, he even _sounds_ like sex.

“I’ve never done it, but wow.”

“Wow?”

 _”Yes._ I want you in me,” Travie says, because he really does, and also he has no filter unless someone asks him to be quiet.

“One more, hold on.”

He knows that Baz is right, Travie definitely needs another finger, but it’s been like ten minutes and his brain’s not getting the memo. He tries to distract himself by lifting his hips and jerking himself off slowly, making these really cool noises that he hopes he gets a chance to repeat.

“Don’t get yourself off.”

“Huh?”

Baz bites Travie’s ear, adds the third finger, and says, “I want you to come with me inside. Can you hold on? It’s gonna be so good, I promise,” which almost makes Travie come on the spot.

“Stop talking,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Fuck me, come on.”

“Okay. Okay. Stay still, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

It doesn’t hurt at all. _I’m such a slut,_ Travie thinks, smiling from ear to ear. He starts giggling, which does something interesting to the angle. Baz drops his weight back onto Travie, and that’s good too, feeling all that skin, knowing he’ll smell like what they’re doing until tomorrow morning’s shower at the rink.

“S’ good,” he tells Baz. “More? I can take it, I promise, holy shit.”

“Holy _shit,”_ Baz agrees, and nails him right in the prostate. He’s smart enough to cover Travie’s mouth first, but it doesn’t stop the shout, just muffles it enough that no one’s gonna bang on the walls. He keeps Travie’s mouth covered when he speeds up, and Travie has to squeeze the base of his dick. He’s close, and overheated, pinned down just hard enough that he’d struggle to lift them both up.

Anal sex, then: a definite yes.

He loses a bit of time, he thinks. One minute he’s trying not to come, next thing he knows Baz is jerking him off and Travie’s hands are both up on the mattress again, pulling the bedsheet off.

“Now,” Baz says, and it’s game over.

He comes all over Baz’s pillow and bites his own arm to keep it quiet. Baz comes right after, shaking against Travie’s back; both his arms are wrapped around Travie’s waist, which is probably the best part.

“No homo,” Travie mumbles. He’s drooling a little. It’s, like, the best sex he’s ever had. It’s better than that full body massage he and his dad had in New York last summer.

“What?”

“No homo, full bi,” Travie explains. “That totally wasn’t bros.”

Baz rolls over and cracks up. “Happy fucking birthday, Travis. And many happy returns.”

Later, when he’s walking back to his dorm so Spenser doesn’t find him in bed with his roommate, he tries to figure out if he feels any shame. There’s nothing. Not even a hint, even when he looks up at the chapel windows. He just feels like himself.

His roommate is sleeping when Travie gets to his room. He changes into a pair of sweats and lies down, looking at the Aces poster on his wall. He remembers that he didn’t close the tab on Parson’s draft video on Spenser’s laptop, but whatever, it’s not like Spenser doesn’t know who his favorite player is. All he’s gonna want to talk about tomorrow is the girl Travie hooked up with, not that Travie’s gonna tell him it was Marie. Or anything else he did.

In two years’ time, after Travie’s drafted and he’s out of this goddamned convent, he’s gonna have a whole new city to mess around in. He can’t _wait._

**Author's Note:**

> the series is on tumblr @omgcp-suitehearts and so am i @soundslikepenance


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